


The Look

by LadyTP



Series: They Looked at Each Other and Liked What They Saw [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Confined Space, Dubious Consent, F/M, Prompt Fill, Protection, Sexual Tension, edited from the original, redux, this fic is back after being locked away for 1.5 years, yay!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTP/pseuds/LadyTP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>She felt dizzy, fully aware of how his eyes were sweeping over her body - those hard grey eyes that always seemed to follow her around the court.</em><br/><strong>EDIT November 2017: This a redux, recently edited version of my original fic “The Look”, that was hijacked by a scrupulous person who somehow abetted by my own naivety has been allowed to sit on it for 1.5 years without me noticing it. Mea culpa!</strong> </p><p>One-off, a small glimpse into what <em>could</em> have happened in King's Landing during ACOK... Sandor tries to protect Sansa from Joffrey's wrath in his own way, but doing that he discovers that the situation has its unexpected advantages for him too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Look

**Author's Note:**

> **EDIT NOVEMBER 28 2017:**  
>  **Hello, “The Look” is back!**  
>   
> 
> **Somehow – partly due to my own stupidity and naivety - this story ended up sitting in a third party collection since July 2016, not being accessible under my own account ever since. This person asked me if she/he could include it in there, to which request I stupidly agreed, not realising that it effectively meant that my own fic was hijacked and tucked away without anyone being able to access it - as she/he didn’t do anything to release it from there. Only after the wonderful and considerate Zip001 alerted me to the fact that this was missing, I did some digging and found out about the situation. D’OH!**  
>   
> 
> **Anyway, here it is again, after I alerted AO3 to the fact and they set it right. In the meantime I was prepared to re-post this anew, and in the process edited the story a bit, and have included the edits below. Nothing drastic, mostly stylistic issues and language, that sort of things. So I guess I should call this “The Look – Redux”…**  
>     
>  **I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!**
> 
>    
> WARNINGS: Dubcon
> 
> This is in response of the Livejournal sansaxsandor Sansan-fest prompt by Maroucya: _“Something dubcon... anything, really I just want to read a good dubcon story!”_
> 
> This is one-off, a small glimpse into what _could_ have happened in King's Landing during ACOK... Sandor tries to protect Sansa from Joffrey's wrath in his own way, but doing that he discovers that the situation has its unexpected advantages for him too.

 

 

 

_**Sansa** _

“Be quiet, girl.”

Sansa looked up in terror, felt a hard hand pressed against her mouth. She couldn’t have uttered a sound had she wanted to.

\----------

She had been in her room when she had heard an urgent bang on her door. It had been unusual, and despite her uneasiness she had approached the commotion cautiously, asking with tremulous voice who was it who had such urgent tidings with her.

“It is me, Clegane. Let me in, and hurry, girl!” the rasping voice of the Hound had barked back at her. Sansa had drawn back in surprise; usually when he came to take her to the King, he announced his arrival with a terse knock and a clear announcement declaring that he came in the King’s business.

Nonetheless, she had had no choice. The door had no lock and he could have just barged in, had she denied him access. Faced with a real possibility of her tardiness only making him more irate, Sansa had hardly turned the latch when the Hound had shoved the door aside and stepped in, turning quickly to bang the door shut behind him. He hadn’t looked at her but had seemed strained in an effort to listen to something, cursing quietly as they had heard steps of men approaching further down the corridor.

“Seven buggering hells,” he had muttered, then glanced around the room scrutinising it. Before Sansa had had a chance to say anything, his gaze had fixed upon her bed – or more precisely, under it - and he had grasped Sansa’s hand. Swiping her legs from under her in one smooth sweep of his foot, causing Sansa to yelp and fall on her back, he too had ducked on the floor pulling her with him, rolling both of them under the bed in one effortless movement.

\----------

And there they lied, Sansa engulfed in his grip, his large hand on top of her mouth. Her eyes widened and her heart pounding, she struggled against the panic threatening to overtake her. As the steps of heavy boots stopped in front of the closed door, the Hound whispered at low voice.

“The King just got the news of yet another victory of your kingly brother and he is screaming murder. He sent for you, likely for another beating in the hands of his buggering Kingsguard.” He growled so low that Sansa felt his voice vibrating against her ear.

“Beating the hells out of you seems to be our formidable king’s only recourse against the Young Wolf’s battle prowess. Yet if you just stay quiet, you may be saved from it – this time.”

Sansa’s heart rejoiced for a moment from what she had heard, then lurched when she thought about the pain such news usually brought on her. She nodded, and felt his grip on her mouth loosening.

The hard knock was followed by the bellowing voice she recognised belonging to Ser Meryn Trant.

“Lady Sansa, we are here in His Grace’s business! He wants to see you in the Great Hall.”

They stayed silent and the knocking resumed. Soon enough the time for courtesies was over and Sansa heard the click of the door opening and two men entering the room. They moved around, examined her garderobe and pushed items on her desk. Loud cursing indicated Trant’s displeasure of what he found.

“Bloody hells, where on earth could she be? The King really wants her.”

“I don’t know, my lord,” another, more timid voice replied.

“Of course you wouldn’t, you fool. Maybe she is out with her maid. I better send men to search for her. You, you stay here in case if she comes back.”

The steps moved towards the door.

“Not here, you idiot, wait outside the door! If she does return, bring her to the King immediately.”

“Yes Ser,” they heard the faint reply as the door closed with a resounding bang, followed by rustling and clank of armour as the young soldier resumed his position leaning against the door.

\----------

The Hound relaxed, stretching himself against the stone floor. He loosened his grip on Sansa, who likewise rolled on her back and turned her head towards him. She was puzzled. The Hound had showed her his hard sort of kindness before; had saved her from the riots and had given her advice on how to handle Joffrey. Even though his words had been harsh and cynical, they had helped her, and she was thankful for him.

Still Sansa wondered what had made him to come to her like this. He owed nothing for her or her house and she was not in a position to grant favours to anyone. Her position as the King’s betrothed was a hollow honour at best; in truth she was nothing but a prisoner and a pawn. And he knew it as well as she did – so why was he showing kindness towards her? Sansa could not puzzle it out.

What made the situation especially vexing was that it was not the first time he had directly intervened; when Joffrey had had her stripped semi-naked in front of the whole court, he had barked ‘ _Enough!’_. Tyrion’s arrival had saved Sansa from further humiliation, but sometimes she had wondered what would have happened without it. Would the Hound really have stood against his own master?

She didn’t blame him for his lack of action in other instances though. He had to follow the King’s orders or endure his wrath. Why would he risk that on her behalf when she was nothing for him?

Sansa’s eyes travelled down his companion and she noticed he was not wearing his armour, but only a simple tunic and rough breeches. He was staring at the underside of the bed and murmured, almost as if sensing her stare, “I am off-duty, was breaking my fast in the Great Hall when I heard the King losing it. Bloody idiots didn’t know how to pass the news properly. He sent for you soon after.”

He turned his head and looked at Sansa.

“I tried to get here before that fool Trant to whisk you away, but I was too late. Now it looks like we have to hide here for a while.”

Sansa gasped. Trapped in a confided space with a man whose whole presence exuded anger, hate, and hardly contained rage? Maybe beating in the Great Hall would be a preferable option! As if knowing her thoughts the Hound smirked.

“Don’t fret. Eventually they will give up, too lazy to try to find you proper. When they do, you better find a good excuse for your absence.”

Residing to her fate Sansa nodded silently, wondering how long they would be stuck in their hiding place. Besides the company, there were worse places to be trapped in though. The bed had high legs, being of the type intended to store household coffers under it. She having only meagre possessions there were no coffers under the bed, but the height meant that even the Hound’s enormous body fitted underneath it. They also had light, the morning sun filtering through the pale fabric covering the sides of the bed all the way to the floor. It was as if they were ensconced inside a particularly low tent.  

\----------

The Hound moved again, turning on his side and resting his head against his hand, his elbow resting against the floor. Sansa saw his face close-up, the curtain of dark hair partially covering it, strands of it brushing her own shoulder. She felt self-conscious under his hard grey eyes, especially as they studied her face intently before moving lower to her neck and the skin revealed by her low-cut morning dress.

“So here we are. Had no plans to get trapped under a bloody bed though. I do have better things to do, you know. They better relieve that poor sod on your door soon.” Despite his harsh words his gaze continued to explore Sansa, not ungently. Sansa glanced at him, then turned her eyes away. She had already gotten used to his scars and didn’t shy away from them, but his proximity unnerved her. He must have misunderstood her though, as he tensed.

“Don’t care to look at me still? Well bugger that, I like to look at _you_. Maybe that’s what I’ll be doing to while my time away while being couped up here!”

He leaned closer to Sansa, smiling – but his smile was almost as scary if not scarier than his scowl.

“It is not like I wouldn’t have seen it before. At least this time it wouldn’t be the whole court gaping at you.”

Sansa drew a breath. _Surely he doesn’t mean what I think he means?_

“I’ll tell you what, little bird. In exchange for saving you from a beating, I will look upon you. A fair exchange, I say. Just look – I will not touch you. A dog would not presume to sup from his masters’ catch.” He chortled briefly, a snarling bitter laugh.

\----------

Without waiting for her response he turned Sansa on her side towards him and started to unlace the ribbons of her dress. Sansa flailed and tried to pull herself away, but he only grasped her harder.

“Or you can make your presence known, let that soldier there to hear you. He will take you to your betrothed and you can see what amusement he has thought for you _this_ time.”

Sansa stopped, realising that if she tried to resist, that was exactly what would happen. Being caught up in hiding with the Hound would only make it worse. It would have percussions for him as well, but much worse to her.

Her mind raced. _He wants to look at me. But he promised he will not touch me._ It dawned on her that in truth she had no choice. The thought of enduring one more humiliation – and pain - in front of the whole court emerged as a worse option than being shamed in front of one man only. Tears of embarrassment burned her eyes, but she gave up her resistance and lied still.

“Good girl. Now if I just can get these fucking ribbons undone,” the Hound muttered, continuing to tug them impatiently, opening them one at the time all the way to her hips. It was clear that he was no expert is undoing women’s skirts, an irrational thought raced through Sansa’s mind, but soon enough he yanked the loosely tied laces of her shift apart and turned Sansa on her back again. Looming large over her he started to tug the dress and shift lower.

Sansa closed her eyes but felt how the fabric fell from her shoulders. She forced herself not to resist when he lifted her arms one at the time and peeled the long sleeves all the way down to her wrists, then pulled her arms free from them. Instead, she focussed on her breathing; in – and out, in – and out. _This too, shall pass._ _He promised._

One more yank and she was bare down to her waist. Instinctively Sansa’s hands flew to cover her breasts, shame ingrained in her by her whole upbringing making her grimace at the face of being seen by a man other than her husband. It did nothing to dissuade the Hound - chuckling coarsely under his breath he took her both wrists into his large hand and raised them above her head, pressing them against the floor.

Sansa squeezed her eyes closed even tighter, willing herself to imagine that this was not happening to her.

\----------

For a while nothing happened. Sansa could sense crimson spreading across her chest and neck, the hot sensation bringing sheen of sweat on her skin. She had never been in such close proximity of a man, not to mention while being half-naked. Shame, embarrassment and humiliation flooded her – this was not what her lady mother had raised her for!  A sting of approaching tears made her press her eyes close even harder.

_I can be brave, like my lady mother. I can endure this. I can survive this._

After a while, when she couldn’t detect any movement or sounds, she felt sure of herself enough to steal a quick glance under her eyelids to the Hound’s direction.  

He was staring at her, his hand still holding her wrists. His gaze was intense as it swiped across her breasts, from one to another, then on the hollow of her neck, and on her hair that was spread against the floor as an auburn silken sheet around her head.

The Hound’s stare was so forceful that it was almost like a touch. Sansa saw, and sensed, her nipples puckering up in dense peaks. It made no sense to her – it was not truly cold, and there was nothing else to cause such reaction - bar his gaze.

The Hound’s eyes widened and he threw a quick sideways glance at her. Sansa closed her eyes again and if possible, felt even hotter flush spread across her skin. She shivered, even though the wooden planks under her back felt warm.

“Like cream and strawberries you are, girl. And look so soft too. Wouldn’t mind trying myself how soft, but I promised I will not touch you. And the dog keeps his promises,” he muttered. Sansa didn’t respond, as there was nothing she could say.

After a long time, during which she felt an unexpected warm tingle on her skin gradually spreading all over her shoulders, chest and below her waist, she felt his hands on her dress again. It was being tugged even lower, revealing her lower belly. _No, this is not what he has seen before!_ Sansa thought frantically when she realised his intentions.

\----------

“Don’t fuss, little bird. I just want to see more of your sweetness. No harm will come to you.” The Hound released her wrists and instead of covering her body, Sansa raised her arms across her face to hide it from him. Her shame deepened but there was nothing she could do. Besides, he had _promised_ he wouldn’t touch her. As strange as it might be, she felt she could trust him. Even while he was violating her with his eyes and seemingly enjoying her distress, for some unfathomable reason she had faith in him, believing him to keep his word.

A bit more struggle on the Hound’s part, dragging down her dress and her smallclothes, and soon all her clothes were pooled on the floor below her feet. Even when undressing her, he had taken care not to touch her with his hands, only grasping the fabric of her clothing. It was almost as he had taken his promise of not touching her at its true value.

Finally Sansa lay bare in front of him, naked as on her nameday. She could feel her skin rising in goosebumps, and a slight shiver travelling across her whole body. It was most unsettling feeling – being so bare and so vulnerable and yet buoyed with a sense of security – a whimsical thread at its beast, supported only by his promise.

She squeezed her legs tightly together, but she knew she couldn’t hide the auburn triangle of curly hair between her legs.

\----------

Again, for a long time, nothing happened. Sansa could hear him, breathing hard and fast, yet no words escaped his lips. She would have expected him to make some rude comments about her, laugh at her, perhaps –and yet all she could hear was the whoosh of air through his nose and slight scuffle when he shifted his position on the floor. It was as if the time had stopped, two of them wrapped inside the cocoon of their make-shift tent. Without intending to, Sansa stretched herself to release some of the tension that had gripped her whole body. Her movement pushed her breasts up and she heard him swallow hard. Alarmed, she curled onto herself once more.

Yet he stayed still.

The feeling of being so… _exposed_ …was something she had never experienced. She was horrified, she was mortified – but after she got over her first wave of anxiety, to her amazement Sansa noticed that the experience was not _completely_ unpleasant. She felt dizzy, fully aware of how his eyes were sweeping over her body - those hard grey eyes that always seemed to follow her around the court. She had tried to hide from them at first, but later, as she had understood that they were not mocking her nor taking enjoyment of her humiliation, she had yielded to his gaze. Over time she had started to gather some strange comfort of it, even.

Then she felt it. The warmth of the Hound’s breath on her skin, the brush of his hair following it. It was like a summer breeze on a lazy afternoon spent by the bonds in the Godswood of Winterfell, where she had sneaked with Jeyne Poole to enjoy the rare opportunity of forgetting that she was a lady, of loosening her dress and lifting her skirts to let the wind cool her hot skin. It had been wicked, it had been joyous, and it had felt _wonderful_.

The sensation moved slowly from her neck to her breasts, first to one, then to another. It stopped briefly above her nipples and she could sense the blow of air on them when he exhaled. The warmth of it stirred her skin, as if the warmest of those long-gone summer winds gently caressing her. The tips of his loose strands of hair tickled her, and for a moment Sansa wondered abstractly if that could be considered the Hound breaking his promise.

In the end she concluded that it would not; after all, it was not in his power to control how his hair fell.

The Hound positioned his whole body anew, leaning on his hands next to her, still careful not to touch. The new position allowed his warm breath to travel further down across her stomach and hips, stopping above her mound. Sansa felt strange tension in her womanhood, and wetness she had not experienced before. For a moment she was mortified – what was happening to her?! How could she – whatever it was that was taking place – surely he would not notice?! _Oh gods please do not let me embarrass myself any further_ she prayed in her mind, ashamed of the embarrassing bodily reaction. When she chafed her legs slightly together, she could feel it spreading. _What is he doing to me?_

Yet he didn’t touch her. Only looked. And from the sounds, _sniffed_ him. Inhaling loudly, holding his breath, and then slowly releasing it.

Like a dog he was supposed to be.

\----------

The Hound took his time going through her whole body, from top to the bottom, all the way to her toes, then up again along her legs and thighs. Sansa couldn’t help squirming, unable to resist the feeling of having to do _something…_ Once, when she jerked involuntarily from the sensation of his hair on her mound, her thigh momentarily met his bearded jaw. He withdrew quickly, before descending on her again once she had stilled herself.

Then his breath was gone from against her skin. She could hear where he was from the sound of his panting, somewhere further down. Cautiously Sansa moved the arm that had covered her eyes aside and peeked at where she thought he would be. True enough, the Hound was on his side next to her feet, his body lying in almost opposite direction to hers. He was again resting his head against his bent arm, looking up her long legs towards her. His eyes gleamed and Sansa felt herself drowning in their dark grey pools. His expression was inscrutable and his mouth slightly open, the corner of his burned mouth slightly twitching. Irrationally Sansa thought that he looked like a predator, ready to pounce on its prey.

She knew she should have been afraid – she _was_ the one being preyed. And since when did the kill not dread its killer?

Still, she trusted his word.

\----------

When the Hound saw her looking at him, his expression changed slightly. It took a new, softer appearance. He flicked his eyes towards the joining of her legs, which she had had crossed tightly throughout the whole ordeal. Sansa blushed, but didn’t let her eyes leave his. The Hound looked back at her under his brow, then back at her curly mound, then back at her. There was something pleading in his eyes.

_He wants more._

Suddenly Sansa realised what he wanted to see, and was horrified at the thought of someone wanting to set eyes on her most private parts. Her breath hitched and she felt sick. Was this ordeal never ending; would his appetite only grow stronger if she let him has his way?!

Yet he still hadn’t touched her. He could easily have let his hands roam all over her, just as he could now just spread her legs with a harsh yank – and there was nothing she could do to prevent that.

Once more strange serenity overtook her. _He will keep his promise. He will not force me._

And so, despite being utterly defenceless and under the power of this strange, crude man, at that precise moment Sansa felt more powerful than she had felt for a long time. Her humiliations in front of Joffrey and his snickering Kingsguard and the helplessness of not being able to make her own decisions had slowly broken her down until she felt she was nothing but a shattered vessel . She had submitted, learned to surrender and in the process had given up the part in her that was the blood of wolves.

But now, in the stark situation not her own choosing, she suddenly felt her strength flowing back to her veins from a small gesture granted to her by the cruel warrior, one of those whose duty it was to torment her.  For a fleeting second – for a fleeting minute - she felt more in control than she had done since her nightmare had started, and she felt…relieved.

Something flickered between them as they stared at each other. Grey eyes met blue; a man, perhaps not used to experience anyone facing him so squarely, taken aback. A girl, hardly more than a child despite being a maid flowered and almost wed, growing bold.

Not truly believing what she was about to do, Sansa steered herself, then relaxed, sighed deeply, and hesitantly and unhurriedly started to uncross her ankles.  Slowly, ever so slowly she opened her legs, moving first one, then another, until her feet were a good hand-width apart.

She was still looking down at the Hound and saw an astonished expression flash across his face. Then his eyes squinted as he took in the new sight in front of him. Tense as a bowstring Sansa squeezed her eyes shut as she spread her legs further and allowed his gaze to penetrate her secret place. A fluttering sensation swept her core, bringing in a new surge of wetness in the place she was opening to him – to a man. To the Hound.

Without noticing it she too had started to breath in fast and shallow gasps. The intensity of the situation strung her taut and she felt as if she was about to burst at any moment. Burst as a ripe peach, split open by the slightest of caresses, bruised by a careless touch. Part of her yearned for a physical manifestation of the tensions now pulsating between them, another part abhorred it.

When she opened her eyes she saw the Hound still staring between her legs. He had a hungry look upon his face, yet it also bore something more. Disbelief, wonderment– and if she hadn’t known better, she might even have imagined him looking _grateful._

\----------

Then they heard it, heavy steps on the corridor. Frozen in the middle of the moment, arrested in a most peculiar enchantment, Sansa returned to her senses and snapped her legs close. They both seemed to be breaking out of the trance-like state they had been in; the Hound too, was alert again, an image of attentiveness as he raised his head and listened.

“The King has decided to go hunting to blow out his frustrations. You are relieved of your duty, go back to your unit,” Meryn Trant growled. He was irritated, that much was clear from his tone.

The soldier muttered his response and after a few short moments they heard their steps retreating. Everything was quiet again.

The spell broken, Sansa and the Hound gathered themselves. He recovered first, rolling from under the bed and getting to his feet swiftly, almost too gracefully for a man of his size and bulk. Before Sansa had time to consider how she could do the same in her naked state, he moved to the foot of the bed, gathered the bundle of discarded clothes and pushed them next to her.

“Get up and dress yourself, little bird. I won’t look – I have had my fill,” he grumbled.

Sansa hugged the fabric against her and carefully inched her way out. As she got up she saw he was true to his words – _again_ \- standing in the corner, staring resolutely at the wall. Still dizzy, she dressed herself with shaking hands, tying the laces as well as she could. They were not the neatest nor the most elegant she knew she was capable of, but as long as they served their purpose to keep her modest once again, she couldn’t have cared less.

When she felt she was decent once more, she coughed. “I am done.”

The Hound turned and glared at her with a scowl on his face. Somehow he seemed to have changed back to Joffrey’s dog, back to the bitter and angry warrior. The moment when he had been a different man was gone.

Sansa felt oddly hollow because of it.

“We better think of a bloody good story to explain your absence. I suspect hunting will let Joffrey kill enough things so he won’t come bothering you again, but someone may still question where you were when he sent for you.”

Of all the things he said, most of them making perfect sense, it was the way he said “we”, when he could have just stated how _she_ had to think of a story, caught Sansa’s attention.

“I…could go to the Queen. I could think of something that I needed to see her for. Even if I don’t see her, there will be ladies and servants in her rooms who could testify me being there.”

The Hound viewed her with appreciation. “Aye, that might work. Well thought, little bird.”

As he turned towards her, Sansa noticed the way he crossed his large hands in front of him. It seemed strange, but a quick glance revealed the bulge in front of his breeches he was trying to cover. Sansa blushed, guessing what it could mean. One could not spend much time in the court, a hotbed of gossip and giggling confessions of lady courtiers, without learning a thing or two about the ways of men. To hide her embarrassment she moved to the door.

“I leave now and run straight there. If I make sure that my presence is noted and stay for a while, I can honestly say that I was in Her Grace’s rooms this morning if anyone asks. And there will be witnesses to prove it.”

“That should do it. Even the King can’t deny your right to visit your future goodmother. Just be sure that no-one sees you now; take the back-route to the Queen’s rooms.”

The Hound had not moved but stayed where he was.

“I will stay here for a while longer. I have to make sure that I am not seen to leave your rooms.”

As he shifted uncomfortably on his feet, Sansa realised what he was going to do once she left. She had overheard of…things men did. Her breath hitched at the thought of him using the memory of what he had just seen for _that_. Just the thought of it was so crude she felt herself blushing again. And still - she did not feel disgusted, as a real lady would have been.

_What is wrong with me?_

She prayed in her heart that Joffrey would never ask the Hound to beat her. She couldn’t take it if he was to become one of her tormentors. Not after today, when he had first saved her, then cruelly forced her, then had given her a small sense of control again…

Forcefully pushing all disturbing thoughts out of her mind, Sansa turned the latch of the door and opened it carefully, peeking into the corridor. Seeing nobody, she glanced back at him one more time.

“Thank you…for saving me.” She felt ridiculous for thanking him for the humiliating experience he had just put her through. Yet…he had also kept her from a beating.

“No need to prattle your little courtesies to me, girl. You have paid whatever you might have owed me in full. Paid more than you should have,” the Hound grunted, looking angry. His eyes shifted from her face to the door to the window, then back at her. He appeared thoroughly annoyed, his rage returned, turning him into a stranger once more.

Sansa nodded stiffly, traces of her earlier anxiety returning. Whatever had transpired mere moments ago seemed like a dream. A nightmare, perhaps - maybe later it would haunt her dreams as such.

Then she ducked into the corridor and ran towards the Queen’s rooms as fast as her legs could carry and didn’t look back.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Until the end of her days - even after having married her lordly husband and lived through her wedding night and many, many nights since in the arms of her husband, her lover, her truest companion - Sansa remembered that morning. Despite experiencing the burning passion of a truly loving marriage, it had ensconced in her mind as the most sensual experience of her life. Every now and then, even after decades, her thoughts flickered back to that heady encounter and she felt the same flutter of excitement as she had felt then._

_Her lordly husband agreed, gruntingly admitting to her how he hadn’t been able to get the incident out of his mind throughout the years they had been apart._

**THE END**

 


End file.
